


Requiem

by planet_plantagenet



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Backstory, Boarding School, Crushes, Death, Depression, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Pre-Canon, Present Tense, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7901899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planet_plantagenet/pseuds/planet_plantagenet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight sweet prince:<br/>And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"</p>
<p>Horatio recounts his time with Hamlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem

I first hear about him from the whispers. The whispers say that Hamlet is the Prince of Denmark. But I don’t particularly listen to the whispers. Rumors are not facts.

I know that there is a boy called Hamlet in my year at Wittenberg. He has long brown hair, pale skin, and bangs that almost seem to cover his hazel eyes. I know that he doesn’t talk a lot, and keeps his head down most of the time. I can’t help but speculate, but right now I’m sticking to what I know.

*

It’s been a month. I know that Hamlet is struggling, and I don’t know why. He has impressive literary skills, but doesn’t have a concrete grasp on science and math. The teachers don’t seem to be giving him the support that he needs.

So I ask if he needs any help.

For the first time, he really looks at me, and I see a kind of sadness behind his eyes.

“I would appreciate that,” he says.

*

Every Saturday, Hamlet and I sit under the large pine tree next to the lake. No one else is here, ever. It’s our place. We see other kids in the distance, but none approach us.

Within the space of two months, I have Hamlet caught up in math. Again and again, he remarks on my incredible teaching skill. I blush and say it’s nothing really. But he seems so grateful, and I can’t help but feel proud.

Sometimes we don’t have a new skill to practice or problem to work out. We go to the tree anyway. It provides calm and quiet for us to read, or sometimes talk.

Hamlet doesn’t talk much, but when he does, his words are incredibly eloquent. Sometimes I just listen to him, enraptured in his speech. He tells me about Denmark, and his parents, and life at Elsinore. And in those moments I forget the class difference between the two of us. We’re not a scholar and a prince. We’re friends. That’s what matters.

*

One day Hamlet asks me if I have a girlfriend. The question sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through me. Conversations like this often end in an inquiry into my sexuality, one topic that I’d rather keep to myself, for my own safety. So I just shake my head and look at the ground.

Hamlet pauses. Then quietly, he asks, “What about a boyfriend?”

I freeze, look up slowly, meet his eyes. “No….” My reply is hesitant, and I notice a look of realization on his face.

“Are you gay?” he whispers.

I nod slowly. His face splits into a grin.

“Cool. I'm bi.”

I smile, feeling happier than perhaps I should.

*

I can’t stop thinking about Hamlet. My heart skips a beat whenever I’m around him, and I feel incredibly self-conscious. I look forward to our Saturday meetings with a kind of newfound anxiety that I can’t quite pinpoint.

I tell myself it’s just another crush. I tell myself to forget it, that it’ll fade over time. I can be Hamlet’s friend, yes. But anything more is out of the question.

My mind reminds me that he’s bisexual. That he likes me. That he trusts me.

But I can’t dwell on that.

I push my feelings aside and go on with my studies.

*

It’s been a year and a half since I first met Hamlet. He’s still shy. He’s still a little behind in science. But that’s okay. I’m helping him. We’re making progress together.

Sometimes I wonder about his mental health. There are times when he keeps his head down, mutters to himself. Sometimes, at night, I think I can hear him crying himself to sleep.

I’m worried.

*

In winter, the lake freezes over. Hamlet and I take walks around it, dressed in coats and hats and scarves but still subject to the chilling air. I can see my breath.

We walk in silence. No one else is out here in the cold morning. We use the time for introspection. We don’t talk, but we appreciate each other’s presence.

One day, Hamlet stops walking. He’s shivering. He looks so lost and helpless.

I don’t know what to say. Tentatively, I take his ice-cold hand in mine and squeeze it gently. He squeezes back, a smile playing across his frozen lips.

We walk hand-in-hand for the rest of the morning.

*

There is a boy called Laertes that Hamlet has been stealing glances at. He’s tall, slim, quite attractive. His hair is always cropped neatly to a point just before his shoulders, and he seems to dye it a different color every few months. Today it is magenta.

Today, when Hamlet turns his head to gaze at Laertes, Laertes turns and grins back.

*

I am walking around in the quieter parts of Wittenberg, speculating on a scientific problem from my homework. I absent-mindedly turn around a corner, and freeze. Hamlet and Laertes are making out at the end of the corridor. They break apart when they see me, Hamlet’s expression going from horror to slight amusement.

My cheeks turn bright red, and I hurry away, trying to get the feeling of betrayal out of my mind.

I don’t think it’s just a crush anymore.

*

One day, Hamlet doesn’t come to the tree on Saturday. I wait for him the entire day. He doesn’t turn up. I assume he’s with Laertes.

I want to cry, but the winter air freezes my tears.

*

The next Saturday, he’s there before I am.

“Don’t you have a date with Laertes?” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice.

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Then he looks away from me, towards the lake. “I don’t think I’m in love with him.”

My heart skips a beat. “You—what?”

“I had a crush on him,” Hamlet continues quietly. “But that’s all it was. A crush. It was fun… but I think we need to end it.”

*

The next night, I hear yelling from Laertes’ dorm. I try not to think about it.

Hamlet slips back into our dorm at midnight. He looks even more tired than usual.

“What happened?” I ask.

“We broke up.” His face says it all. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

*

Laertes’ hair is green now. He doesn’t look at Hamlet anymore. They ignore each other. I can’t help but feel a little bit happy.

*

In the middle of the night, someone shakes me awake. The pale moonlight illuminates part of Hamlet’s face. His eyes are wide, and sweat is dripping down his face.

“Are you okay?” I whisper.

“Bad dreams,” is all he says. His eyes dart around the room, then he looks back at me. “May I sleep with you?”

At any other time, the request may have been awkward. But now, seeing Hamlet’s terrified face in the dark, there is nothing I’d rather do.

Wordlessly, I nod, and he slips into the bed beside me.

I hold him for the rest of the night, and we keep each other warm.

*

Hamlet starts to invite Laertes’ sister, Ophelia, to sit with us under the tree. I take a liking to her instantly. She’s a very friendly, enthusiastic person who shares a lot of the same interests as me. She takes a more advanced math class than I do, so the two of us join forces to help Hamlet in his academics.

I suspect Hamlet may have a crush on her too, but for some reason that doesn’t bother me.

Soon, the three of us are hanging out almost every day. Hamlet is happier than I’ve seen him for a while.

*

Summer is approaching fast. Last summer seemed to go by without consequence. I missed Hamlet, yes, but it was bearable. Now I can’t imagine a day without him.

On the night before the last day of school, I notice a light on in the balcony. I slip out of my bed to find Hamlet standing there, staring out onto the dark grounds of the school. The air is cool but not freezing, and I join him, closing the door behind me so we’re alone.

It’s a second before he speaks. “Sometimes I think about killing myself. And that scares me.”

I feel a sudden chill, even though the night isn’t particularly cold. “It scares me too.”

Hamlet looks at me. His eyes are wet. “Keep in touch over the summer, okay?”

“Of course,” I reply.

*

Summer is long. Way too long. I write to Hamlet twice a week, but I still think about him every day.

He tells me he’s in a kind of relationship with Ophelia. He says it’s slower, not rushed like the one with Laertes. I don’t feel jealous. I’m happy for him.

*

Finally it’s school again. When I see Hamlet, I rush towards him and pull him into a tight embrace. He’s laughing and saying how much he missed me. I’m pretty sure there are tears streaming down my face, but I don’t care. I’m back with Hamlet. That’s the only thing that matters.

*

We keep meeting on Saturdays. Sometimes Ophelia joins us. We study and laugh and play and it’s amazing.

One day, early in the morning, it’s just Hamlet and I. The lake isn’t frozen yet, but it’s cold enough to see our breath.

We walk in silence.

Then Hamlet slows, turns to me. “Emotions are difficult.”

“They are,” I agree.

“Especially when it comes to love.”

My heart skips a beat. I say nothing. Hamlet continues.

“Like Ophelia. I know I like her a lot. I just don’t know if I can really call it love.” He shakes his head. “It’s all so complicated.”

“I know how you feel,” I say.

Hamlet stops, turns to me. He’s smiling slightly. He reaches a hand up to place it on my shoulder. “Thank you. For… for always being here for me.”

“I’m always here,” I reply. I can feel his warm breath on my face, my heart beating fast.

And then he kisses me, and I kiss him back, and the entire world stops for those couple seconds, because for that time Hamlet is the only thing in the world.

*

And for a while, for just a couple days, the world is perfect.

*

And then suddenly Hamlet is gone, and everything seems to crash down around me.

*

Hamlet’s father has died. His uncle Claudius has plans to marry his mother, Gertrude. Hamlet is in Elsinore. I can’t imagine how he must feel.

I hear all this from Ophelia, who leaves for Denmark shortly after.

And I’m alone.

*

I get a letter from Hamlet. The envelope is folded neatly, but the paper inside is crumpled and stained with tears.

I read:

 

_ The suicidal thoughts are getting worse. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t believe my father’s dead. _

_ Please come to Elsinore. Even if you have to skip school. You’re the only thing that’s keeping me alive. _

_ All my love, _

_ Hamlet _

 

I don’t hesitate. I pack my bags and leave on the next train.

*

And the rest is history.

*

And now Hamlet is dead, and I’m telling his story. Even though it keeps me up for days on end, taunted by sleep. Even though it makes me want to cry until I seem to have no tears left.

My name is Horatio, and this is the story of Hamlet, the boy I loved, and the boy I lost.

The rest, of course, is silence.


End file.
